Gather up our Bones
by Raindog Bride
Summary: It's years later after the fall of the Moon. Seles is rebuilt, Dart got a haircut, and Meru saved coming to him for last. A story in many small snippets in which no one is happy. ::COMPLETE:: What happens to a world not saved.
1. Calendar

When Meru had been much smaller than she was before she encountered Dart and Company; before she first laid eyes on a slim, sleek, deadly hammer on a window display, before she decided she absolutely detested the idea of trousers, she had a small friend named Guaraha.

Guaraha was much like her in that he was small and cute and prone to sudden fits of napping, but there the similarity ended. Unlike Meru, who found mud to be the most agreeable and entertaining of all her toys, Guaraha was quiet, introspective, and utterly unwilling to get dirty.

One day little Meru actually managed to persuade him to follow her to the river, where all the other kids were splashing, fighting, poking amphibians, and seeing how far they could fly before their wings gave out and sent them plummeting into the water. Obviously, this interested Meru very much, purely on a philosophical basis. Guaraha only came because she threatened to break everything in his room unless he didn't.

When they had gotten to the river, instead of going along with it and wading into the water with the rest of the kids, Guaraha balked at getting his clothes wet, and then flatly refused to take them off, saying that it was indecent.

Meru wasn't sure she knew what that word meant, but ground his face in the sand anyway, and ran off, leaving him to run screaming to his mother.

Years later, after the fall of the Never Setting Moon, she'd dragged him to Lohan so that she could fully integrate him into human culture. She took him to her favourite restaurant and ordered the biggest plate of fried chicken they had, so they could eat it all as fast as they could, throw up, and eat more.

Guaraha, who'd nearly thrown himself into convulsions after stepping in a pile of ox-droppings, sat stiffly next to her with a cup of barely touched tea, not looking any of the humans in the eye. He didn't eat any of the meal, and then refused to head to the Coliseum to knock monsters over with rocks.

So she did the same thing she did to him all those years ago, only instead of grinding his face in the dirt, she substituted it with a plate of leftover chicken, and when she flew off she didn't come back.

That had been some years ago. She'd tried to go back to Donau and take up dancing again for old time's sake, but only as long as it took for her to remember that dancing in front of strangers was one of the most degrading careers, ever.

Her next stop had been more west, through the bones of the desert, with barely enough water to keep her going long enough to follow the glimmer of life in the center; Ulara. She didn't know why she went, or why she stayed so long, but there she immersed herself in the whole sorrowful and beautiful culture of the last true Wingly City.

They were dying, she knew that. They'd been dying before the Moon ever fell, and now it was just a matter of time. Sure, there were Winglies all over the city, just as tall and ethereally beautiful as ever, but it was as simple as that there were no children in the city. Anywhere.

Charle was kind. She took her in as her own, and designated herself as Meru's unofficial teacher. Meru learned far more about Rose than she had ever known- such as that Rosie dear had been terribly, terribly afraid of spiders as a girl, and had nearly decapitated Ziegy darling after he dangled one down the back of her neck.

Meru thought of cold, competent Rose with her long heavy hair and milk pale skin and how carefully she held herself at all times, and laughed her head off. Then she'd cried, because that's what you do when you remember things like that.

So she stayed, and seasons came and went, and she lived there as best she could. She lived in that strange city that was part forest, part garden, and part palace. But one day the sun came up and she saw its light glinting on the silver gilt of her hammer on the wall, and knew she had to leave. So, she'd kissed Charle on one parchment powdery cheek, stepped into the green buzzing center of the transporter, and set out.

She had to…. Oh, see the world. Or something.


	2. Scissors

When the Sandorians had come through Seles all those years ago, Dart had once said to her, they left it a smoking hole.

_Everything was gone_, he had said, eyes cast down, on that sunny day in Furni, a few months before Shana was taken. _Everything. No one knew what to do._

Meru reflected on this as she watched the smoke rise from the chimneys in the village below. She was seated on a tree stump on an overlooking hill, finishing the rest of her lunch with much in the way of finger-licking and crumb-hunting. It hadn't taken her that long to get there, after all. Dart had said that there was a series of caves that led quickly through the mountains that would take a day or so, but Meru had essentially said screw that and flown over.

Her wings had given out some miles ago, and then she'd walked.

Smoking hole? Not so much. The place bustled. Everything was made of new wood and shiny paint and the people were happy and industrious. At least they were before Meru landed near the town well in a cloud of dust and a flapping of ribbons, causing several children to run away screaming that it was a _dragon_, and several more to study her dubiously with thumbs in their mouths asking her if she was a fairy.

She said hell yes she was, and headed straight for the main street.

A few odd looks were given her way as she walked through town. She couldn't blame them, really. Everyone was wearing brown and green, and the women wore headscarves. Meru wasn't wearing any pants.

She was about to stick her tongue out at an old biddy who was giving her disapproving glares from a shop window, when she spotted someone very familiar making purchases across the street.

Dart didn't seem to fully appreciate being tackle hugged around the waist and sent flying into the street, but she could tell he liked it a little.

Dart had gotten chubby.

Well, not really. His ribs didn't skoosh that much when she poked them, but there was padding there that wasn't the rock hard muscle she remembered (having poked him many a time before).

He looked much different. Older, for one. He was almost stocky, his muscles less stark and greensap than before. His face had filled out, and he looked much more sober. He looks like Zieg, Meru realized with some startlement.

His hair was shorter too, and _where had his lovely golden mullet gone, _WHERE?

When she eventually wrestled out of his armpit, she was relieved to find that he hadn't changed so drastically after all.

Dart's house was on the edge of town, nearly hidden in the trees. It was two stories, and newly thatched by the look of it. He swelled with pride while Meru gushed on how darling and twee it was, and said quietly that he'd built it himself.

Once inside, he'd relaxed for all of three seconds while she oohed and awwed over the interior before squeaking and rushing to rescue a tray of rolls from the oven. It was only after he'd set them carefully down on the table and slid out of his oven mitts that he noticed Meru staring at him.

_What_, he asked, fidgeting a bit.

_You threw on an _apron she exhaled.

_Oh_, he said, looking down. _Yes._

Another silence.

_You can cook?_ asked Meru.

The women of the town had felt bad for him, he said. No one to cook for him right and him a hero and all, went all the way to Fletz some said and killed a dragon or summat and him not knowing how to set a stew to boil! Least they could do was to drop by and show that boy how to make dough rise.

_I watch their kids for them sometimes_, he said. _It's okay._

_But what about Shana?_ asked Meru. _She's good at cooking, where is she?_

Dart fidgeted again. They were seated at the kitchen table by now, the plate of rolls cooling between them, unnoticed. It was so very much like Dart, she noticed. Earnest and brave to a fault, and the only one of them who could inspire her to do the craziest things, like hunt down a Wingly she'd never met, or kill a mad half-god miles above the earth. But he had a built-in inability to discuss straight out the things that hit him most personally.

An example would be that Meru had only found out about a previous member of the group named Lavitz when Shana had explained it to her in passing, after Dart had gone off by himself without telling anyone for an entire day. He died a year ago, she'd said. It was very sad.

_Sleeping_, Dart finally said awkwardly. _She sleeps a lot now._


	3. Cold kitchen

She hadn't ever really recovered from the Moon. Something about being that near to the God of Destruction's body and it's simmering, bubbling, batshit-insane mind had twisted strings and snapped others in the framework of Shana's mind.

He'd find her walking, miles away, a white pebble in one hand, her unstrung bow in the other, crying. Or she'd be doing the dishes, and drop every finished plate on the floor.

And then she'd fallen ill. She didn't leave her bed much.

They'd moved to the edge of town, where she seemed to be a bit better. Or at least, where the neighbours couldn't see. They knew anyway, and taught him how to cook and clean and care for a house.

_Shit,_ said Meru, a half-eaten roll in one hand. The kitchen had dimmed as the sun had gone down, and was growing cold.

Dart shrugged. _We get on all right_, he murmured.

_Yeah, but still. Shit_. Said Meru. _I'm sorry Dart._

He smiled without really meaning it, and shrugged again. _Don't worry. She'll be better soon._ His eyes lifted up to meet hers, and he asked, _Wanna stay so I can make you dinner?_

Later, she'd think of it as one of the few times she'd actually connected with Dart, sitting at his table drinking hot sweet tea and eating fried rabbit. And she knew then that she couldn't leave him here with his little mad girl wife who used to be someone and his rolls and his cooking and neighbours that pitied him so much.

Shana never came out of her room that night.


	4. Retrace

_I visited Albert_, said Meru the next morning, when Dart was mindlessly puttering around the kitchen, his apron on backwards because it was the _idea_ that counted, not the actual apron. He was making a coffee cake, and apparently it was a delicate process that involved a lot of brown sugar and nuts and apple wedges and opening the oven door quickly and swearing loudly while you fanned the flames off of the thing and dumped the whole charred mess out the window.

It seemed that cakes and breakfast foods did not fall into his new repertoire of cookery. Eventually he just made them both coffee with the leftover grounds, fried a few eggs in grease, and warmed up some slightly stale bread for toast on top of the stove. _Oh yes?_ He said absently.

There was a separate tray farther along the table. On it was a small plate, a tiny pot of tea, and a small vase containing a few small, bedraggled flowers. Once Dart had finished setting the eggs to frying, he sat by the tray with an apple and a pocket knife, carefully shaving off small, skinless pieces and arranging them on the plate.

Meru got distracted watching him. He was doing it as carefully as possible, and when the kettle started to whistle, he got to his feet quickly and poured the water into the teapot until there was just enough. The tea he used came in an expensive looking tin, and smelled heavy and sweet. He smiled awkwardly at her with his eyes as he was packing it into the little canister that would let it seep in_. It's her favourite_, he said. _I get it once a year from the market at Lohan._

_Oh_, said Meru. She drifted a minute more, then shook her hair back and got back on topic_. He seemed fine!_ She said. _Really happy. He's still in love with Emile._

_Really? _said Dart, smiling. Good for him. Spatula in hand, he went to the stove to turn the eggs and toast, and refilled the kettle from the bottle on the counter, and set it to boiling again.

Meru sipped her milky coffee.

Albert had been more than fine. She'd visited him before she came here, since she'd never been able to see the palace that he'd always stiffly declined to talk about, out of some misguided attempt to not appear too royal in front of the rest of them. Miranda had scoffed at the idea, and said that she didn't give a rat's ass about who knew where she lived, and that the Crystal Palace in Deningrad was surely more beautiful than some medieval hut in Basil. Rose had countered that it wasn't the same, as she wasn't really royalty, and then it had descended into a one-sided fight, with Miranda screeching obscenities at the dark dragoon, who seemed to let it slide it off her like water over feathers.

Albert had watched somewhat awkwardly, and then gone off for a walk by himself for a while. He seemed to mysteriously appear again once everyone had stopped yelling. He had a knack for it.

Meru had strode into Basil one morning, and decided instantly for herself that the Crystal Palace could shove itself up its own ass, because the Serdian capitol was adorable. It was squat and fat and looked like a teapot, and staunchly Serdian from the rounded bulkiness of the walls to the coloured pennants snapping and waving from the towers.

They had also eaten breakfast together. Albert had been his regular charming self, and Emile illuminated every room she entered merely by gliding into it. They were still (hopelessly) in love, and Albert had kept getting distracted over breakfast by such things as the glint of silver around his wife's long neck, and the wry twist of her lips as she recounted some tale or another. Meru had kept getting distracted by the way the cooks had somehow managed to only bake the top of the muffin, and thus eliminate the gross crusty bottom half of it that had previously been essential to the makeup of muffindom. She slipped several into her pocket for later while Albert was giving longing looks to Emile's ankles.

Emile had demurely crossed them, well used as she was to her husband's tendencies to forget that they were married and start mooning over her all over again, and asked Meru nicely if she'd had a hard time coming in?

They had talked for several hours. Albert was polite, and quietly funny as ever, and Emile was gracious to a fault. But Meru realized then that things had changed while she was away, and that Albert would never strap his javelin to his back and come out to see the world with her. He was, well, a king now. He always had been, there had been no mistaking that. But now she could see the beginnings of a beard, and a strengthening of his jaw and a coolness in his eyes. He was no longer the shy, introspective kingling who wrote sonnets to the sea and always blushed when the ladies in the party had loudly complained of female problems (Meru in particular). Although she had still suspected that he had atrocious poetry stuffed in his desk drawers, and that he would be curiously absent once a month when Emile would have the personality of a rabid bear. It was just better hidden now. He'd grown up.

When she had left, she'd given him a strangling hug around the neck, and kissed him once on each cheek. He'd looked embarrassed for a moment, then dropped the act, and picked her up, spinning her around until she squealed and threatened to sue him.

So he had changed. But not for the worse. Meru wondered if she'd changed as well.

_One sec,_ said Dart, and he carefully headed up the stairs with the tray in his hands.

Meru watched, and didn't say anything.


	5. In the gut

She had been to see Miranda too.

Meru had always liked Miranda, in a weird sort of way. Sure, she was rather hard to get to know seeing as she was an argumentative _shrew_ who never let Meru have all of the blankets if it was cold out and they were all sleeping together (Meru and Miranda, usually. Rose just went off and froze by herself. Meru resented her for that. Miranda had cold feet and snored like a pig trapped in a large hollow place. Meru shouldn't have been the only one to suffer). But while she was hostile, incredibly suspicious, and hated Rose with a single-minded intensity that was a little bit daunting, Miranda was a surprisingly simple person. She liked people who agreed with her and could fight well and didn't get in her way. Meru didn't have the attention span to disagree with most things, seemed to meet Miranda's martial standards, and spent too much time sneaking up on Kongol and messing up his mohawk to get in anyone's way. And she was short. People smaller than Miranda tended to activate her latent protective instincts. Meru still wasn't sure if this was a good thing, but it seemed to work.

Miranda had a walk with a stomp in it. She hated everything gloriously and with an enthusiasm. Her yell could spike a jolt of pure adrenaline down your spinal column and out your toes. She wore her mood like a bloody sack on her shoulders, and was the loudest, bravest, most obnoxiously heinous bitch you'd ever hope to meet.

So Meru had been a little shocked to see her standing silent and dead faced beside the Queen's throne when Meru finally made it to Deningrad.

The Queen had smiled bemusedly and asked with clouded eyes if Meru wasn't indeed one of the seven brave people who had saved Endiness? Meru, confused, replied yes, and listened as the aging Queen said that she was very sorry, but she became so very tired these days and Miranda dear, would you mind entertaining our guest?

Miranda's jaw had tightened, but she didn't do what Meru expected, which was to loudly complain about having other things to do and why couldn't Wink or Setie handle this and Theresa _knew_ that she wasn't good at things like fetching tea and whatnot. Instead she had bowed low and said _of course, my Queen_, and left with Meru following her.

That night she got drunk and very angry, with Meru meeting her drink for drink (Meru was less angry, and more appreciative of the fact that she could now drink without someone squinting at her and saying that she didn't look old enough). Miranda had stalked around like a skinny lioness, all frizzy hair and pent-up rage, ranting that Theresa was dying and the country was getting nervous and Wink hadn't been the same since that silver _fucker_ had snuffed it, and Setie and Luanna were just as annoying, and Miranda couldn't _go_ anywhere because she was stuck caring for someone too old to remember anything anymore.

Then she'd looked horrified at having said such a thing about her foster mother, and had burst into tears at the table, knocking over the ale jug with one sweep of her arm.

Meru would have comforted her, but she was too busy throwing up out the window.

When she left the next morning, Miranda (looking annoyingly not-hungover), awkwardly punched her in the arm and said _see you sometime, shortie._

Meru had left Deningrad, and had pointedly avoided passing close to home in case of the unlikely event that Guaraha wanted her back.

She didn't see him, and she was glad of it.


	6. Entropy

_What do you do all day? _Meru asked as they were wandering around the smallish, brown garden out back behind the cottage, right on the edge of the woods.

Dart shrugged, hands in his pockets. He had an old coat on, and a thick green scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. It was strange, seeing him in soft, battered clothes like an old farmer, or any random stranger you'd meet on the street. She remembered his armour, the unnatural _loudness_ of it. All red paint and chipped iron, and within the first half hour of meeting him she'd shrieked you have metal _nipples_! But it had suited him. He'd always worn it, sometimes he slept in it, near the end of their journey when everyone was too tired to do anything but walk, fight and sleep, and he always carried the smell of metal with him.

Meru was wearing some of Shana's old clothes; some pants, mittens, and a neat little white wool jacket with flowers embroidered on the sleeves and collar. Dart had hesitated when he'd handed it to her. Something passed over his face. Then he'd smiled a little strangely gave it to her and said that it was Shana's favourite.

_Look after Shan_a, he said. _Sometimes some parents will drop off some kids to watch while they're out working, and I keep them busy. _

_Kids, huh?_ Said Meru. _Neat! D'you ever transform for 'em?_

He paused. Probably imagined himself disappearing in an explosion of light and radiation and reappearing as a bone-coloured monster with seven wings, descending on a group of highly frightened children.

_No_, he said. _I haven't since…_ He shrugged again. _No._

_Since we saved the world_, said Meru, smiling softly.

Dart gave that incomprehensible little smile again. _Yeah, we did do that, didn't we_, he said.

They walked on around the garden fence, and started back towards the house.

He doesn't mean it, she thought clearly, no longer smiling.

He doesn't mean a word of it.

The wind blew in, and she shoved her hands in her pockets and hugged her arms closer. Shana's jacket smelled like the flowers they were embroidered with. Meru breathed deep.


	7. Antarctica

She could feel it, like a weight pressing on her mind, the small, pulsing, center of blurry pain upstairs that was Shana.

It had taken her longer than usual, her signal was so faint. Most of the time, Meru could locate people by the signature that they left on the air around them, or pick up whatever had imprinted itself there before. That was why walking through the red rubble of Kadessa had been like trudging through a tar pit- like all of the memories of slaughter and injustice that had taken place there had been clanging all at once in her ears. It was why she had known Ulara was even there because of the green and glassy and not-there print it left on her mind.

Dart was a red-white cloud of steel and blue eyes, with the same tang of destiny and adventure forthcoming that had made her stomp her pretty foot and _demand _to be allowed to come with him. He was the smell of his armour and the sweet coffee he loved. Shana had been a pearly white beacon, a swirling sea of luminescence, like fireflies on the outskirts of twilight. She was the scent of violets, and the oil she used on her leather arm guards.

Meru sensed _something_ upstairs. But it wasn't what she remembered.

Dart was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was empty, but for the warmth of the fire. She looked around, then stole quietly to the stairs.

The second floor hallway had three doors. Two were ajar. Inside one she could see a small unmade bed and a sword hanging on the wall. The room smelled musty and lived-in, and she could see a scattering of dirty coffee cups on the window sills. The other room was a bright sewing room, with shuttered windows and a half-made quilt folded on a stool.. Everything looked shut up and put away, as if it had been that way for a long time. The last door was closed.

Meru padded down the hall, sticking close to the wall. Then she placed one hand on the door handle and began to open it.

Terror shot down her spine as Dart's brown and calloused hand closed over hers, stopping her motion. She hadn't even heard him come up the stairs.

_Don't,_ he said over her shoulder, his breath floating over her neck. _She's sleeping_. Then he removed her hand from the doorknob, and released it, crossing his arms.

Meru hugged her hand to her chest as she turned around. He hadn't hurt her. But when had Dart become this….

She looked at him. He had this small, worried, passive smile on his face. It made her bones shrink.

She cast out and tried to find his imprint, his aura, and connect it to what she knew. There was nothing there but the steady drum of his heartbeat reverberating in the air, the same signal that every human sent out.

_All right_, she whispered.

He smiled brightly, and nodded. _Don't worry_, he said. _She'll be up in no time._


	8. Sun and sand

When Meru had stepped off of the boat at the Islands, she'd thrown herself to the ground and announced that that was _it._ No more boats. Ever. Even if she had to fly back to the continent and fall into the water and get eaten by sharks, she was never taking a boat all alone again. (Last time it had been easy. Whenever she'd gotten seasick she could just go talk to Albert and help him with a few rhymes. After she desecrated his ode to Venus, however, he had locked the door.)

Haschel was surprised to see her, but delighted nonetheless. His hair was a white-washed salt and pepper by now, and his skin was as leathered and wrinkled as an old boot, but when she first saw him he was calmly bending a student of his into a close approximation of a human pretzel, so everything seemed the same. When he saw her, he let out a shout, dropped his victim, and hugged her so hard that she felt her bones turn to oatmeal.

Kongol was more reserved to see her, but she could tell he was happy because of the way he ran his hand over his head and a sliver of teeth gleamed in a smile. His tattoos were faded and dull, and he'd let his hair grow out normally, a black pelt that dangled into his eyes. His command of language was also better, but he still had that rumbling rockslide quality to his voice that made her hair rise, and when he finally said hello, she jumped into his arms like an awaiting bride and stuck her fingers up his nose.

He then tossed her straight into the sea. Once she flew back (dripping, her hair undone and sluicing water down her back) to the platform, Haschel invited her to his house to drink and eat and talk about everything that she had missed. She had felt so relieved that she could have cried.


	9. Yellow dressed afternoon

And one day, when Meru decided that staying in that tiny, perfectly built cottage with its overwhelming secret upstairs was too much for her, she came downstairs and found Dart filling up an old pack that was gaping wide on the kitchen table.

_That market, in Lohan? It's starting up in a few days_, he said as he folded a pack of matches into an old shirt_. I get that tea there, since they usually only sell it up by Donau, where it's hot enough to grow it._

He took his sword off of the wall where it hung next to the stove, one hook over from a bag of potatoes and a braided bunch of garlic, and buckled it to his belt. The sword was quite unlike the one hanging in his bedroom- for one thing, it was older, and the leather hilt was peeling slightly. But it wasn't until he stood with it at his side again that Meru realised that he finally looked almost complete to her- as close to the old Dart as she'd seen him since arriving.

His armour was gone, he was dressed like a farmer, and his hair was short and cropped, but with a sword on his belt, he almost had that same air of destiny about him again. He seemed like he stood a little different, a little taller, like all the problems in the world could come at him at once and it wouldn't matter as long as he had that sword.

A much younger Meru had had a _horrible_ crush on him back in the day, and she was mercilessly reminded of it then.

_One of my neighbours usually comes in to take care of her while I'm gone_, he said almost apologetically, standing with his hands awkward and idle at his sides. One hand rose and rested on the leather wrapped hilt of his sword; he probably didn't even realise that he was doing it. _I don't suppose you want to tag along. I know Lohan's a long ways, but-_

_Oh my GOD yes,_ said Meru, her words tumbling out one after another like stones. She sat down at the table, swung her long skinny legs up and crossed them on the tablecloth, reaching for an apple with one hand. _I mean, no offense Dart, but you're boring as hell._

He cracked a smile. _You still snore like a pig? _

_You shut your fat ugly mouth, because I am SEXY and sexy people do not snore! _she shot back, and then wandered out to the barn to discover what had happened to her hammer.


	10. Tripwire

It hadn't been much of a crush, really.

Whatever it had been, it was extraordinarily short. It took one look at Shana and Dart together to realize the true dynamic between them. There are just some people that are never going to change. Besides, none of her usual flirtation techniques had _worked _on him back then. He didn't want to play games, he didn't want to hide Miranda's bras in various trees, and he didn't want to punch really muscley guys in the kidneys and run away fast.

So she'd let it die, sad little hero worship that it had been, and had gone back to Guaraha, a little wiser, and a little resigned.

Meru didn't entertain the idea of Dart now, but she was starting to remember why she would.

He was _nice_. He was a one-in-a-million good guy on a continent populated mainly by people just as selfish and bastardly as Meru.

Plus he was one of seven people on earth who knew the importance of the warm slippery stones that they wore, and how it felt to have a dragon whispering in your ear as you fought, something old and not-human that made you crazy enough to kill.

He knew what they all were. It was reassuring, to know that he still did.


	11. Again

_Do you remember? _said Meru, scrabbling up the dusty slope of the hill, the sweat on her hands making her hammer shaft slip down her hands. Her nostrils were full of hot sun and dirt, but her hair gleamed like a blue topaz in the light. _That smell you get when you're within a mile of Donau?_

_Flowers and saltwater_, replied Dart, his hair lank and flat on head, his skin tanned amber brown from the sun. _Like perfume. _

_-_

_-_

_Remember Magrad? _he puffed as they skidded down the wooded side of the ridge, gnats meandering lazily though the sunbeams redolent with pollen above them. _That dirty mosaic we found in the rubble?_

_They were _doing_ it! _she shrieked. _Haschel had to go change his pants! Albert made etchings!_

_-_

_-_

_Remember the Moon? _she asked quietly, her voice barely heard over the rushing of the stream. She was on her belly, her arms stretched out to dip elbow-deep into the water. _The way the water there tasted like earwax?_

_We ran out of what little we brought with us after a day or so, _Dart replied soberly. _Then we drank it anyways. _

_-_

_-_

_Remember the way those green portals felt? _he wondered aloud as they navigated through the ancient trees, the whisper of ferns touched by the wind and the steady hum of insects filling the silence. _How they ripped out your insides like a hive of bees and dumped you out the other end?_

_The green buzz of it, _she nodded back. _I liked it. It was tingly._

_-_

_-_

_Do you remember the ash that fell for three days after the Tree exploded? _he murmured by the fireside, the light making his eyes glitter weirdly and his face look so old.

_I caught it on my tongue, and it tasted like feathers,_ she said in return, drowsiness making her words run together like wool.

_-_

_-_

Do you remember?

Do you?

_Remember?_

_-_

_-_

And Meru decides, or realizes, whichever of the two, a truth that gnaws at her bones and grits at her eyes.

Pain is old.


	12. Flare

Meru had been in cities almost since the day she'd first left home, but she'd never seen a city as crowded as Lohan on the biggest market day of the year.

There were so many people and Runners and wagons and booths all around that the narrow framework of bridges and stairs that made up most of the city creaked and groaned under the weight of them. From every ledge hung a tradesman, rattling necklaces, or swords, or fish at anyone who walked by.

There were jugglers. _Jugglers_.

The overwhelming amount of humans around her, the sights and sounds and smells and emotions so overpowered her that she retained only disconnected images of what went on as she and Dart waded through the crowds.

-

_A jewel-eyed bird from the forests of Mille Seseau on display in a scratched brass cage, the mesmerizing ends of its feathers carefully clipped off and sold as charms for love. It screamed and screamed and snapped at passersby through the bars of its cage with its long deadly beak. A Minuto stuck his finger daringly in between the bars, then only just managed to snatch it away before the bird dove for the bait. He laughed, his hair a shock of spiky pink, and spat into the dust._

_-_

_A fountain so clogged with garbage that it could barely trickle, but a covey of street rats jumped shrieking into it anyway, the water roiling up into glittering arcs above them as they danced something crazy and alive that reminded Meru that she was a dancer too. _

_-_

_A group of fighters from the Rouge Islands, their shining black braids coiling on the ground as they amiably sat on a doorstep, politely sharing a batch of puffball festival pastries. A venerable man older than Haschel with knuckles so callused and misshapen that they looked like twin blocks of wood took a large bite, and it exploded sugar and cream into his face._ _His comrades exploded into laughter, and he glared at a black eyed woman snickering into her portion who looked to be his daughter._

_-_

_A curry cart upturned by the main gate, spilling steaming vegetables and meat onto the dirt, where opportunistic beggars scooped them up regardless. The accident caused a lot of commotion, what with the owner screaming at the rogue Runner that had done it, but the rising tidal wave of scent made her think of hot desert barrens and the time Kongol had introduced the group to his favorite meal. She'd had a bowl, and had spent the rest of the evening drowning herself in water and swearing at the Giganto, who had been sitting in the corner, chuckling to himself in that landslide voice. _

_-_

Eventually she found herself just staring off into the distance, uncharacteristically silent.

Dart noticed first, then nudged her with one elbow. _You okay?_

Meru's awareness returned in a rush. _Yeah_, she said slowly. She shook her hair out, then tied it back up with a leather thong. _Yeah. Let's eat. You're buying. _


	13. True love

He bought things.

Pretty things. Soft things. Like lambswool blankets and fragrant soaps and tiny boxes of candied violets wrapped in scented paper. He arranged each small purchase neatly into his pack, which had flapped loose and mostly empty for the trip thus far.

Useless things, for the most part. But lovingly meant, each one of them.

Dart did this until he came across a tiny chest of drawers the color of spilled milk, the insides lined with mother of pearl. He handed over more coin than Meru had seen before in her _life_, and the owners assured him that it would be delivered to Seles as quickly as possible.

_Where did you get all of this money? _she asked, still amazed. _We fought monsters all across the continent and we didn't make this much. You don't even _have_ a job._

He stood, looking pleased, with his arms crossed and his blue eyes shining bright as he gazed at the chest of drawers. _I get a purse every once in a while from Theresa, and from Zior, when he remembers, _he replied, slightly distracted as he ran his hands over the creamy scrollwork on the edges. A small smile ghosted onto his face. _She'll like this_, he said. _She likes it when the morning light comes in, and when it hits this thing…_ His grin slipped on to stay. _She'll like this_.

Awkwardness seeped into her bones and wrapped around every vein. But Dart, she wanted to say, she's not…

But when you got right down to it- what could she say to that?

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**Author's Note**: Man, I just want to thank all of you for your lovely reviews and for your support. This is one tough story to write.

Poor Meru. She should be off having her feet massaged by willing attendants, not hanging around with a depressed baker.


	14. The sweets

Dart walked through narrow streets and shadowed alleys until he came to a particular booth where the owner greeted him by name with the ease of familiarity. He smiled back, but it was brief and clipped.

His hand brushed over a green glass bottle with a leather wrapped stopper, its insides smoky and dull. _What do you have?_

The merchant, his robes long and elaborate, but edged with cheap embroidery that was already fraying at the hems, made a gesture of respect with one long arm, then pulled out an envelope full of brown roots from beneath the counter. _Einger's Dream_, he said. _Made into a tisane, it cures nightmares and induces long sleep._

Dart's face was unreadable, but that happy buoyancy that had sustained him all throughout the day seemed guarded and brittle. He stretched out a hand and picked up the envelope, sifting through the roots within. He shifted uncomfortably, then said, _What else?_

The merchant took down a flask from where it hung with dozens of others on the ceiling, then unhooked it, wafting its fragrance through the air. It was a sweet and strange aroma, like old incense. _A tea, from the ancient Gigantos,_ said the merchant effusively. _It balances the humors of the body and abates strong emotions._

Dart frowned. His fingers twitched up to his sword hilt, where they tapped restlessly on the pommel. The merchant stiffened, but Meru recognized the behavior as one of Dart's quirks; a way he had of masking what he was thinking about just then.

_I know that I've come to you before for things like this, but they don't work right, _Dart said softly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear, but didn't want to do anything so awkward as lean over and whisper. _The nightmares are gone, and the fits have faded, but now…_

Dart let a long silence stretch out, standing tall and uncomfortable next to the booth. _Have you got _anything _else? _he finally asked.

The merchant was wordless, his long arms folded awkwardly into his sleeves. After a long moment, he silently pushed forward the roots and the tea, then stood there helplessly.

Dart put a hand on them, then reluctantly nodded for the man to wrap them up, and reached around for his money.

Once the parcels were neatly bundled up in brown paper and string, and the coins had been exchanged, the merchant smiled nervously with a wide expanse of greasy teeth and said, _You come here next year, like before, eh? I'll have something new from the Far Islands in. They may be able to help._

Dart nodded, his eyes not quite meeting the merchant's, then he tucked the packages under his arm and walked quickly away, vanishing into the crowd.

Meru, still unseen, headed quietly back to the hotel.


	15. Truth

Shana had been what was known as a _dead_ shot, someone that could nail a fly to the wall with a stick if she so chose.

You really wouldn't know it to look at her.

Yet her skinny, awkward long limbs in their boy's shorts hid a marksman's eye and a cool head. Meru had seen her fingers, and had feltthem more than once when she'd really banged herself up and had needed those small hands to set her to rights. There were calluses there that had built themselves up on a bowstring for many years.

Shana's arrows had always been fletched with goose feathers; white, silk-edged ones with steel points kept scrupulously clean. There was always something thrilling about the way her shy, gawky demeanor would disappear when her bow was needed, how her hand would whip round and have an arrow on the string before anyone could blink, and she'd draw and loose with a sigh. She picked her targets carefully, never wasted an arrow, and owed all of her talent to wearing her fingers bloody practicing.

She had been a very good shot.

But Dart had always been nervous about this skill of hers. Meru halfway thought that he'd never really believed in it. He never seemed to see past Shana's soft arms and her pretty brown eyes to the calluses beneath, so to speak. It wasn't his fault. He was in love. But every time she got near the forefront of battle, near enough to hurt or to heal, he'd panic. He'd drop everything that he was doing, the team member he was protecting, _everything_, and tear his way through whatever was preventing him from being at her side. It was a little disconcerting at times, to be fighting for your life with a comrade at your back, only to suddenly realize with a sick drop that he wasn't _there_ anymore.

Albert had gotten nailed that way. Really hurt. And Dart had looked shaken and horribly lost, and had said that he didn't know what had happened.

That was the only time that Meru had seen Shana look _really_ angry. She had known that Dart felt that he had to protect her above everything else, and it frustrated her to no end.

It must have gotten worse when she'd got taken away by Frahma, Meru thought. That must have been the only time that Dart felt that he had failed her.

Tell me he doesn't still blame himself for that, she thought intently as she followed him along the trail. He _would_ be that stupid.

They ended up camping at an ancient shrine of white stone and blue water, where the setting sun lit it up like a golden and ivory palace. Dart knew his way around the place, and found a building hidden in the maze of ruins with a very normal looking firepit in the center, old and scattered though its ashes were. They set their stuff down, built up a fire, melted the last of the cheese on some toasted slices of slightly stale bread, and ate in silence.

Their walk back hadn't been as cheery. Their packs were heavier, for one, and Dart had lost that happy sense of expectancy about him. He was taut-faced now, his steps were hurried, and he didn't talk as much. Like he needed to get back as quickly as possible. Like there was something terrible hanging over his head.

The moon clambered up over the horizon, and made the stones of the shrine look like the color of bones, every shadow as keen and sharp edged as a knife. The fire died low, and the lazy heat of the day was sucked away into the rock as if it had never been. But the frogs in the water around them paid no attention to the temperature, and called regardless.

Meru had stopped being able to feel the cold as well a few years after the event at the Moon that Never Sets. It had built up in her, a slow steady tolerance. She was all right with it, really, it had meant that she didn't have to wear gross socks in winter and ridiculously floppy hats and _pants, _and that she survived a few times when she probably shouldn't have. Ice was bread and butter to her, so it had no bite to it anymore.

She didn't quite understand it herself. Yeah, super awesome ice dragon powers could mean a resistance to frostbite, but what did that mean for Miranda? Inability to tan? Was Kongol really good at sandcastles?

Dart, though, he was easy. It had hit him quicker than most of them. Back when they were still traversing the continent, searching for evildoers, the easiest way to get him to shut up in the evenings was to build up a decent sized fire and give him the closest seat to it. He'd be _mesmerized_,staring into it for hours with his eyes glittering like a cat's. There was something warm and deadly about it that he loved. Sometimes when everyone had dropped off into sleep but her (and she made sure that he thought she was) he'd slowly-hesitantly dip his fingers into it, seeing how long he could go before being burned. Dart was stupid like that. He usually didn't, that was the strange thing. But he sometimes did.

The fire glowed back at her through his eyes. He was staring at it just as intently as he always did, distracted and lost, but his face was older now. More sober.

She had a question that had been niggling at her since the day she'd arrived. It had been roiling in her belly like a sack of eels, always just on the tip on her tongue, but she hadn't been ask him such a thing.

But the moment seemed right for it. A strange, deadened calm settled over her.

_Dart, _she said in a soft, soft little voice, like pebbles. He jerked a bit, then sluggishly looked briefly away from the flames, just to let her know that he was listening.

_Why do you think Shana's sick?_

He didn't move for a long time.

When his eyes dragged themselves up slowly from the heart of the coals, her breath nearly sucked in, because there wasn't a scrap of life in them anymore.

He had the face of a ravaged old man. He gazed at her for an endless, horrid moment before answering; his terrible eyes fixed on hers.

Finally, he shrugged. Defeated and old. _Punishment. _


	16. A twist in the ribbon

When Dart returned home, he barely had time to dump his things on the floor (unmindful of the cracking sound it made that meant that something inside had suffered a bad fate) before he rushed up the stairs without a word. She heard his footsteps disappear into the room at the end of the hallway.

Meru had eyes that were throbbing, and her bones felt like they were shrinking and grinding against her joints, so she tossed her pack and her hammer into the corner she'd taken for herself with a careless thump, and flat out _gave up_.

She had things that she wanted to say to him so mean that they were blistering the back of her throat with their bile. Meru wanted to rip him apart so bad that he'd flat-out forget the monster in his gut, slowly devouring him.

_If Rose could see you now, she'd shit herself._

_No wonder your mom chose to burn to a crisp._

That was a bad thing to want.

She was going to need a while before she went back into that house.

Meru needed to dance. She needed to lose herself in the shiver chords of the _citarra_ and the purling beat of the drums. She needed to be long limbed and fluid and untouchable again.

The tavern held only farm men and their husky sons, and two minstrels with a fiddle and a bodhran, but she walked up to them with her ribbons laced up to the tops of her white thighs and bells ringed around her wrists and ankles without a trace of shame. _Play something old. Fast, too. _she said to the fiddler, and he gulped, but nodded, his eyes fixed on her flat stomach with the blue jewel in her navel.

Town needs stirring up anyway, she thought, oddly detached, and stepped up on the bar as the man with the stick in his hand rattled it against the skin of his drum, and the fiddler skirled a long note.

It was _bad _music. The fiddler's hands were all knotted up with arthritis, and the drummer couldn't keep a complicated beat if he tried, but somehow, the two of them pulled off a song she knew well. People's eyes were perking up, and appreciative noises were spreading through the tavern, so she raised her arms high in the first position and let her bells chime.

She danced.

She was good at it. Always had been.

Meru danced for a girl with soft brown eyes and a breathtaking smile who wanted to take care of everyone, who was gone now, who wasn't coming back, even though she was still breathing.

She danced for a woman with long ebony hair and pain coursing through every vein, who had never felt the cold, who loved everyone more than she would ever say, and had died in hellfire.

She danced for queens that had been wise and good, for fiancées that had been awkward and hesitant but still caring, for Wingly women with red bandanas that fought like demons and died like heroes, for fathers who lay broken on the ground with tears cutting tracks through the dust and the blood on their faces, for _friends, _for _comrades, _for _history._

_(she danced for men with fronds of butter gold hair and terribly blue eyes, with grins that were shy, but sure, with destiny wrapped around them like a second skin.)_

And they couldn't take their eyes off of her.

They hooted. Threw coin. Pawed at her long lovely legs as she raised her hands to the stars and moved her feet on the bar top. But she paid no mind. They had likely never had entertainment like this in a long time, and never would again.

She danced until the street lamps were lit outside, until the drummer rolled his final note, and the fiddler finished off with a flourish, a flush in his cheeks. And then she stretched, shook her sweaty hair back, and stepped down.

Everything hurt too much to bear.


	17. Everything is ice

She felt dead. Empty. And it was scary to feel that way.

When she came back to the house, her feet were dragging on the ground, and her eyes were blurry with fatigue. Coupling a long day's travelling with a long night's dancing hadn't done her any favors.

The kitchen wasn't completely dark when she opened the door and shuffled her way in. Firelight streamed in through the cracked open stove door, and the moon trickled in a few beams of its own. The room still had the musty scent of a house not lived in for several days, but she could see Dart's pack open and empty on the table, and the new boxes of tea and spices sitting neatly on the shelf.

There was already a cup full of flower seeds and water sitting on the window ledge, helping them to sprout.

Dart was sitting with his back to the table, long legs stretched out to the fire, a cup of tea in one hand. He had the other arm folded around his middle, and all in all, he looked tired, but content. He hadn't even changed out of his travelling clothes.

There was still dust in his eyelashes.

She'd taken her hair out of its high queue, and it floated out around her like a shroud. She imagined she looked terrible, but his face showed no notice of it when he looked up and smiled faintly. _Had to visit town? _he said.

_Yes,_ she replied, sitting down slowly in one of the kitchen chairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that one of her ribbons had torn, and was trailing behind her like a ridiculous leash.

She felt so much like crying.

Dart noticed. _Hey, are you all right? _he said worriedly, sitting up straight. _If you're that tired, you can take my bed, and I'll take the bench down here, no problem. _

She shook her head, and drew her arms up against herself. One hand holding her elbow, the other shielding her face. She looked like a hurt bird.

Dart drew back a little. He wasn't good at females in pain. And in that brief moment of hesitation, she saw her mark and dove right through. The dam cracked, and the valley flooded.

_What are you going to do when she dies, huh_? she burst out, still keeping her face hidden in her hand. _Are you just gonna _sit _here, and rot in this podunk little town until you go too? Just keep getting fatter and older and sadder until you _die?

He was frozen. His face didn't even have time to register pain before she attacked again.

_She's _dead, _Dart. I can _feel it_. Yeah, she's still hauling in breath, but I know Shana like my own mother, and she's long gone. I can see that, _anyone_ can see that, why can't you see that?!_

She was shouting by this point, and her fist came down on the table, and she looked him square in the eye.

_Oh…_

Dart Feld, in pain, had a lot of ways of showing it. Or rather, he didn't, but that meant that you could tell. She had seen him sag to the ground, clamping a spurting, wet wound closed with his _fist_, and his face hadn't shown more than an intense concentration, almost a _listening_ look.

_(There were burn marks on his hands and arms, old ones. Dull and marbled white. He had said they were from Neet. He didn't say anything more about it.)_

But he was looking back at her now, and holy _fucking_ Soa, there was pain there, yes, but he was calm with it. He was calmer than she'd ever seen him.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and sure.

_Shana is my wife. I won't abandon her._

Meru listened with sick dread as he continued speaking. He was still looking at her. She felt like she was drowning.

_Do you know what it was like, to travel for months not knowing if she was dead or alive? I fought harder for her than I've ever fought for anything. When everything ended… when Rose, and my Father died… they died saving her with me_.

_Stop it, _she whispered. _What I said was mean, and stupid, and I don't want to _know!

Regardless, he continued. _I respect their memory, Meru_. She felt frozen. She couldn't breathe.

His next words were picked carefully, delivered slowly, and slid home to her heart like a sword between her ribs. _As much as I respect hers._

_We had five years. Five wonderful years, before things started to go wrong. And we made the most of what time we had. _He had a calm, scratchy voice. Rough and worn as old, beloved furniture. She'd never gotten tired of listening to him back in the day. How she had loved that voice.

Stop it, she said in her mind, and her thoughts were like rain falling in shattered, frozen droplets. Please stop it.

His stare softened a bit, and he looked at her like he hadn't ever before. Like he felt _sorry _for her.

It was the worst she'd ever felt.

_You're angry at me over something, and I can't quite figure it out, _he said matter-of-factly. _It's unfathomable. I got to save the world and be with the woman I love. Not all people are that lucky. _He looked down at his hands for a moment; his face showing an instant of turmoil. The pain showed like blood seeping through a bandage, but it subsided.

He looked up again. _You can waste time pitying me, Meru, or hating me, or whatever it is that you're going through, but I'm not going to abandon her._

_I have someone. Who do you have?_

When her world finally breaks, it makes a sound like ice freezing and crystals chiming.

The moment is so pure.


	18. An ending in a bright place

Say what you wanted about Rose, about her icy demeanor, or her beautiful hair, but she could sharpen a phrase so well that by the time it made it out of her mouth and landed on your flinching ego, it looked less like a measly _phrase_ and more like a frozen-hot katana of _OH SHIT LOOK OUT._

It was impossible to love her. But, if you managed to brave the impossible, and if you fought through every single haughty, damaged, private layer of her, you found that it was impossible to _stop_ loving her.

She also, for some inexplicable, highly illogical reason, had never had a single split end.

All too easily, her thoughts ran back to Rose.

Funny, it took the old bat being dead and gone for years for her to understand that quiet, abrasive woman a little more. Things just seemed to line up, all neat and orderly-like.

_So._ Here you are. You've saved the world. Well done, good for you, gold star. Terrific, the world is a happier place.

But as it turns out, all of the bits didn't get saved. Or even worse, they don't need you to tell them that they need saving.

If you're Rose, and are tougher than a shark crossed with an iceberg crossed with _another _shark, you put your best Glare on and save it anyway. You go out in a blaze of glory.

But if you're Meru, and your ankles are as tiny as dandelion stems, and your favorite alcoholic beverage is something pink and frothy with a name like _Nipple Blender_ and an umbrella sticking out…

You learn to accept the things you can't save. Even if it's from themselves.

0.-0.-0

When Dart hugged her at the gates of town, he did it so tight, so enveloping that she thought that she was going to have to curl up and take up residence somewhere in his chest cavity. He smelled like sweat and flour and summer sun, which was the best thing she'd ever smelled. His short hair tickled her cheeks.

He let go, and handed her a small bag of _cupcakes_, for Soa's sake. Cupcakes. She was going to have to take away his Man License.

"Sure you'll make it?" he asked, crossing his arms and looking Emotionally Secure enough to not embarrass either of them.

"Yeah," she replied, checking the straps on her sandals. The haft on her hammer was re-wrapped in shiny new leather, and the head gleamed with cleanliness. "I'll be flying this time, at least for a few hours each day. A week or two tops, and I'll be there."

"Finding out whatever happened to your friend?" he said.

"Knowing Guaraha," she sighed, "he's been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and is being forced to review Tiberoan street theatre while getting his feet massaged by hairy men. I doubt he's still alive, if that's the case."

They stood together awkwardly in the hot sun, crickets singing mindlessly around them. The grass in the fields was crushed down by the sheer weight of the heat, and the coolness beneath the trees on the pathway ahead seemed inviting.

"So, see you in ten years then?" she asked brightly, twirling her hammer around until she could lean on it.

"Make it sooner," he replied with a cracked grin, his hands in his pockets. "So I can beat Haschel at arm wrestling some day."

Their pause, and the crickets, droned on uninterrupted.

"…Love you," she said cautiously, meeting his eyes for a change. Her voice was a soft counterpoint to the buzzing insects around them, and hard to hear.

"Love you too," he said roughly, almost not daring to meet hers. "…Always will."

The moment stretched on, while both of them averted their gazes and Meru's throat swelled with a surge of emotion that she wouldn't have been able to put a name to if you'd held her at knifepoint.

She wished that so many things hadn't gone as they did. She wished that she could have wrenched apart time and made everyone go home to happy endings and warm beds. She wished that Dart had his arm around a sweet, brown-eyed, effusive girl, and that he could still look down on her with the same amount of nauseating love that he'd subjected everyone to for two miserable years.

She dreaded finding a love that would claim her so completely. A love that would drag your guts out through your shirt and drag you behind it for all eternity.

But she knew that once you had a love like that in your hands, and once you twisted your fingers through it and buried your nose in it to breathe in its sweetness, you'd never let go. And nothing could ever make you.

She took his hand, and she kissed it, a quick smack, like a little girl's. Then she scruffed his hair before he could duck, turned, and walked down the hill with her head held high.

"Meru," came Dart's voice from up the hill, sounding just like that obnoxious, earnest daredevil she fell in love with. "Tell that boyfriend of yours to get his worthless act together, or I'll come and find him."

"What did you _think_ I was going to tell him?" she called back. "Now go crochet some potholders for me."

"It's _therapeutic, _and don't you _dare_ tell anyone we know!_"_

And when Meru walked down the road, leaving that tall, awkward figure behind her, the hot dust kissed her feet, and the sun lit up her hair, as if everything in the universe was reassuring her that it loved her.

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Author's Notes: Watch the credits roll...

Now that was a trip.

I started this story a year ago- and it began as a Meru/Kongol, and Haschel died. It got all the way up until she paid a visit to Dart when I ran into a roadblock, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I decided that a story about _this_ would be more interesting than the logistical impossibility that is Wingly/Giganto sexxors. So there you have it. Kongol and Meru didn't get it on, Haschel didn't die, and we got to find out what the hell happened to Dart. A little. And I never really intended for Shana to be this Big Mysterious Thing Upstairs, but that's how it turned out.

Really, it's a weird story, I don't really know what it's about, but I suppose it's about friends who change into something that you don't really know anymore, and the futility of saving the world.

And how delicious muffins are when you just eat the tops.

I want to thank everyone who reviewed, or even just read it, because it really did help me out a lot of the time. Hey, this fandom ain't _that_ dead, right?

I've got a lot more ideas, and I see no reason to stop. Thanks for sticking around for eighteen chapters of depression and italics. It meant a lot.

And yeah, the italics are gone this chapter. Read into that what you will. Adios.

_Wanting what was mine  
I returned to everything  
—trees and river, trails and rocks—  
that might give me back my voice  
and rhythm and form for memories  
to root in. But all was dust  
and ash and stony ground.  
If what I remember is gone,  
who am I, and where?_

Xavier Marcia, "What was mine"


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